


The Sixth Death of Sandor Clegane

by Shadow_Belle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Belle/pseuds/Shadow_Belle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Letting go of the Hound is a death and a rebirth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sixth Death of Sandor Clegane

Sandor Clegane had died five times.

And all of his deaths had been at the cruel hand of the flame.

Septons said fire cleansed away sin and the dark unholy. Perhaps it had, because while the Hound was a vicious and brutal man, he was nowhere near the beast Gregor had become.

As his face had melted from his skull, the skin dripping like candlewax in orchestra with his screams, what made him a child died. Hopes, dreams, the bright shining star of the ideals of youth, all dust and ash. His first death.

The second time he died was when he burned in the flame of Sansa Stark’s hair as it hung down over her shoulders and her delicate pink lips had chirped a casual courtesy. It had scorched him through, tattooed her mark on his bones.

His third death came when he burned in the blue flame of the girl’s eyes as he’d stood in his damned white cloak and watched them beat her. That was the most horrible death of all, the one that burned the longest and the hottest. Even more than his face. Because she saw him, those eyes seared through everything he was and neither of them could stomach what was beneath.

The fourth death came on the night of Blackwater. The wildfire had burned away his courage, what made him a man. When he’d gone to the girl and she’d closed her eyes against him. He could have taken her then, he knew she wouldn’t fight him, but he wanted something more. He wanted her to come with him because she chose him. And he couldn’t fault her for her rejection. She had no reason to believe his promises. He’d saved her before but… and then he’d burned in his third death all over again. That fire had been so hot, even flagon after flagon of wine couldn’t put it out.

When he died for the fifth time, it had been very close to true death and the fire that burned him was one of regret. It had blasted layer after layer apart, leaving him clothed only in his pain and sin.  
And now he was burning again.

Armor lay shining and bright in the noonday sun on a pyre that rose seven feet into the sky, tall and strong. It was the Hound, but not Sandor Clegane that burned on that altar of orange and gold—smoke and flame.

A beautiful redhaired woman flitted like a butterfly around the base of it with a raging torch in each hand stabbing at the straw and wood, draping the fire like the pretty lace favors in her hair.

While all that had been the Hound twisted and melted away, the redhaired woman wrapped herself in his arms and kissed his ruined mouth. He took her there by the flames, his fear of the fire gone. Because he would burn through all of his deaths again if it would bring him to this moment, with this woman he’d loved for so long.

As he held his wife close, he knew there was still one more death coming for him. He hoped that when the smoldering purples of the twilight clawed him down into the dark it would be with his face buried in the cool flame of red hair stripped to silver by the years and a little bird’s song in his ears.


End file.
